Kismet
by KNO
Summary: AU, three-shot. Leave nothing to chance. A soulmate fic. Rated T for language, suggestiveness.
1. an impracticality

_**\- an impracticality -**_

It was happening again.

He is swimming—was swimming the right word? Neji isn't sure. His surroundings are blurred, as if he is submerged in water (hence the swimming). But she's here. She's always here.

She is floating above him, suspended, it seems, by some unknown force. They lock eyes, and Neji lifts a hand slowly to touch her cheek. She shies away from him, a teasing look in her brown eyes.

He settles back on the riverbed—is he inside a river?—and gazes up at her. They are both naked. Like always.

After a moment, she extends her arm down to him. Her fingertips ghost over his forehead, his nose, his mouth, never quite touching him.

Neji wants to say something, to call out, to ask her name, to beg. But when his mouth opens, only an air bubble escapes, rising to her face.

She smiles down at him and says his name. It is muffled and echoey from the water, but to him it sounds like a song, like a sunrise, like a promise made and kept.

"Neji."

He wakes in a cold sweat. Next to him, Sakura shifts in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. He takes a few deep breaths to calm his heartbeat and turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

_What is this?_ he thinks, forehead creased.

His gaze wanders to the clock on his nightstand and Neji grimaces. **3:34 AM.** His mouth tightens, and he moves again, lining himself up next to Sakura. She sleeps on, undisturbed. Neji watches her for a long moment, still trying to make sense of the dream and his muddled thoughts.

The minutes stretch on, and eventually, Neji feels himself beginning to drift off. He slides an arm over Sakura's hip and sighs, falling asleep.

He's tried to ignore it, of course. He's meditated. He's scoured the Internet for clues to his bizarre dreams, to no avail. He'd even once, in a fit of desperation, searched for brown-eyed, brunette women in his zip code (as one can imagine, this was not necessarily helpful). But his efforts yield nothing. She remains a mystery, and Neji's confusion deepens.

* * *

"I keep seeing someone."

Lee raises his thick eyebrows. "You mean besides Sakura?"

Neji shakes his head, shooting Lee a look. "Not like that. It's—I've been seeing someone in my dreams."

Lee's head tilts to the side in interest, his dark hair swishing. "In your dreams?"

Neji nods, frowning as he fiddles with his steaming cup of tea.

"Who is it?" Lee prompts.

"I don't know. A girl . . . or a woman, I suppose."

Lee leans forward, his eyebrows furrowing in bemused interest. "You haven't met her before? What does she look like?"

Neji sighs. The image of her springs to his mind so easily—like a face he had seen hundreds of times, though he hadn't, not really. He can't bring himself to describe her out loud; he reaches for a pen in his coat pocket and pulls a spare napkin across the table.

He'd always been an adept artist, though his skills were much more traditional than Hinata or Hanabi. His sketches had always been somewhat sloppy, feeling much more comfortable with paints and a brush. He quickly draws the planes of her face, hesitating for only a breath before inking in her dimples. His pen flies across the napkin—her fringed bangs, her round chin, her expressive, laughing eyes.

Truthfully, he wants to keep going: her strong, muscled arms, her trim waist, the curve of her hips, her slender legs. But he stops himself before he gets carried away, pushing the napkin across to Lee, and putting his pen away.

Lee studies the likeness for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to Neji. "Neji—are you sure you've never seen this woman before? This is a detailed portrait. . ."

Neji shakes his head, looking out the window, his thoughts tumultuous.

"Maybe you could put out a missing person's report."

Neji grimaces. "I don't even know if she exists. Maybe she's someone I dreamed up."

Lee taps the napkin thoughtfully. "Maybe you have seen her before, and your brain keeps remembering. Are you sure—?"

"I don't know her, Lee. She's just in my head." Neji looks away from Lee's searching gaze, his mouth tightening. "I know I sound insane," he says softly.

"No, you don't, Neji. Perhaps these dreams are from overworking. Are you feeling stressed about the gallery? Or about Sakura? Perhaps your brain is trying to tell you something."

Neji doesn't have the heart to tell Lee about the casualness of his relationship with Sakura, and work was normal as usual—nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing he wasn't capable of handling. He shakes his head in answer.

Lee's forehead creases, his head cocking to the side in thought. "Have you tried looking for her?"

Neji purses his lips. He is _not_ telling Lee about his Internet search history—he'd rather die. Instead he says, "I've looked where I can. But I don't even know her name. I don't know anything about her. She's . . . illusory."

"She never tells you her name in your dreams?"

Neji shakes his head again, sipping from his cup. Lee stares down at the likeness Neji had drawn on the napkin. He says, voice thoughtful, "Well, whoever she is, she looks interesting."

A wave of yearning rolls through Neji's chest. "She does," he mutters, barely audible as he grasps the napkin and slides it out of sight.

That night, as he's getting ready for bed, he checks his pockets like always. He sighs as he withdraws the slightly crumpled napkin from earlier, laying it out on his desk. He studies the rushed lines he'd done earlier—the attention he'd paid to the round softness of her cheeks, the crinkles he'd formed at the corners of her eyes.

Neji breathes out slowly, edging one finger along her chin, lost in thought.

* * *

Neji and Sakura part ways six weeks later, finally running out of excuses. Sakura's long-time crush Sasuke returns to town. When Neji discovers they are dating, only three weeks after their breakup, he can't even find it within himself to be upset.

Lee takes it as a personal affront, seeking constant reassurances that Neji is alright, that his heart isn't broken. Neji quickly tires of Lee's emotional clamor and begins ignoring him altogether, letting his calls drift off into voicemail.

Summer trips along. The gallery sees an upswing in business, due to Neji's involvement in the city's Art in the Park events. The gallery receives a flattering profile in one of the city's more reputable art magazines, and Neji lets photographers traipse through the studio, snapping pictures.

Lee eventually persuades Neji to begin going out to eat a few times a week. Neji spends late nights in the gallery, re-arranging pieces and studying artist submissions, or reviewing finances. He keeps dreaming of the brown-eyed woman.

One night in the middle of August, he jolts awake and sits up in bed, swearing he can smell her on his skin—ink and coffee and honey-scented shampoo. He exhales, long and low, cradling his head in his hands.

It is agonizing—this fantasy. In dreams, she is so _so_ close. Reaching for his fingers, pulling him along after her, or hugging him from behind, her chuckles reverberating through his body. He closes his eyes, and she's just there, waiting for him, her smile easy, eyes bright.

And he can't shake her. He tries taking sleeping pills for a week, but if anything, she becomes even more vivid—so much so that Neji catches himself waking up with her imprinted on his eyes, his hands reaching out for her, tongue heavy with a name he does not know.

As September concludes, Neji returns to the idea that he's undergoing some kind of mental break. He briefly ponders seeing a psychiatrist, when his researching about re-occurring dreams falls through. But he can't quite bring himself to follow through and make an appointment, because . . . what if she disappears? He dismisses it—she isn't a nuisance, after all. He just wants to know what it all means, what does _she_ mean?

Almost outside of his own volition, Neji begins to carefully study almost every woman he meets. His eyes linger, searching the faces of people he passes in the street, his head jolting up every time someone strolls into the gallery. A few times, he embarrasses himself by reaching out to get the attention of a few women who are somewhat similar looking in height and features. But each time he sees their face, or catches their eye, he flushes and apologizes before hurrying in the opposite direction, thwarted.

Once, he is unwise enough to approach someone while he is with Lee. He can feel his friend's gaze on him as he moves to introduce himself to a woman standing with her back to him, her hair a dark brown. She turns at his polite, "Excuse me", and Neji feels the familiar weight of disappointment settle in his chest.

"Yes?"

Neji swallows, smiling tightly. "I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else." Without another word, he returns to Lee's side. He tries to ignore his friend's sympathetic gaze and shrugs him off when he soothingly claps him on the shoulder.

* * *

In October, Hinata stops by the gallery one afternoon, her schoolbag thrown over her shoulder. "Neji, do you think I could borrow the gallery one evening this month?"

"For what?" Neji asks, looking away from his computer to consider his cousin.

"I wanted to do a feature on some of the themes I've been doing in class. . ." she trails off, her fingers playing with the ends of her hair.

Neji wordlessly pulls up the gallery's calendar, scanning the appointments. "What kind of feature?"

Hinata steps a little closer to his desk, looking at the calendar over his shoulder. "I have this idea—a field of sunflowers."

Neji bites back a groan. "An installation?" he asks, shooting her a look.

Hinata nods. "Don't worry. I won't make a mess like last time."

Neji turns away, rolling his eyes. _Sure_, he thinks.

Sensing his doubt, Hinata says, "I promise, Neji. It will be papier-mâchè."

"That sounds interesting," he murmurs, pulling up a free week. "How about this?"

Hinata leans in. "That's fine. Do you think you'll have time to help me set up? It will take a while."

Neji nods and Hinata pats his shoulder gratefully. "Thank you, Neji. I'll send you the flyer as soon as I design it."

She moves to stand in front of the desk, her head tilting as she considers him. "Are you sleeping? You look tired."

Neji absently rubs the skin under his eyes, sighing. "I'm—just dreaming a lot more than usual."

"About what?"

Neji considers if he should tell her; Lee knows after all and besides him, Hinata is his closest confidant. Gingerly, he asks, "Have you ever dreamed of someone consistently?"

Hinata blinks, her expression thoughtful. "No," she says slowly. "Who are you dreaming of?"

Neji shakes his head. "I don't know." Hinata's forehead furrows, and Neji elaborates, "I don't know who it is. I don't know their name, and I've never seen them before."

"But that's impossible, Neji."

"I know," he replies, looking down.

"Well, maybe you have met them before, and you don't remember."

Neji doesn't press the argument—how could he ever begin to explain? So, he nods stiffly, conceding a quiet, "Maybe."

* * *

While Hinata's art installation does not make the same kind of mess as her last, it nonetheless leaves the Hyuga gallery in disorder, littered with debris. Globs of glue and strips of paper leave a trail from the gallery's backdoor into the main room. Neji gets to his feet and surveys the room—half of the installation is complete, papier-mâchè stalks growing from the floor. A smirk tugs at his mouth—it truly is a special idea, however simple it seems.

On the floor next to him, Hinata is reattaching a sunflower's head to its stalk. "I invited a few people from class to come by tonight. I hope that's okay."

"It's your exhibition," Neji replies, his hands resting on his hips.

From the backroom, Hanabi wanders in, her hand clutching a cracker. As if she has eyes in the back of her head, Hinata quickly reprimands, "No eating in the gallery, Hanabi. You'll get crumbs on my sunflowers."

Neji smiles a little as Hanabi rolls her eyes at Hinata's back.

* * *

A few hours into Hinata's exhibition, Neji is pleased with the turnout. The exhibit itself is free, but Neji had arranged for a bar at the back of the gallery, intending to bring in some revenue.

He stands in a corner of the studio with Hinata at his elbow, trying to overcome her nerves as she nibbles on a fingernail.

"You'll only have to mingle more when you graduate," Neji says to her, his gaze sweeping over the patrons.

"Not necessarily," Hinata replies. "I could become one of those artists that displays their work secretly and then disappears. Maybe we can build a secret room where I can watch everyone's reactions."

Neji snorts, setting his hand on his cousin's shoulder and giving her a small, gentle push. "Events like this are good for exposure. Go on. This is your work, and I'm sure people have questions."

Hinata sighs, shaking her head, but slowly walks away. A moment later, an elderly couple draws her into conversation, their eyes bright with admiration.

Neji watches them for a while before letting his gaze drift once more to the installation, watching as guests wander into the field.

Satisfied with the smiles that rest on their faces, he heads to the back to check on the bartender. "More white wine?" the bartender requests after looking over his stores.

Neji nods and walks towards the small break room near his office, where they keep a refrigerator. He is grasping the bottle from its place when he feels his hair stand on-end. Neji pauses and glances around but sees no one. Shrugging, he returns to the bartender and hands him the bottle.

As Neji is making a loop back to the main gallery room, his uncle catches his attention. "A success, all-in-all, don't you think, Neji?"

"Yes," Neji agrees. "Perhaps when Hinata graduates we can feature some of her work here permanently."

"If it sells," Hiashi says lightly.

Neji purses his lips and decidedly says nothing. Hiashi goes on, sensing Neji's disapproval, "Installations are novel. Without recognition, they are often nothing more than pretty things to look at. This is Hinata's second installation. I would caution you to think carefully about offering her the space to do a third."

"She's still finding her place in this world. What harm does it do to have her show here?"

"Wine and snacks can't generate enough money to keep the lights on, Neji. You know that."

"She has paintings for sale in the lobby," Neji mutters, glancing away from his uncle's gaze.

"And no offers," Hiashi says flatly.

Neji concedes this point in silence, nodding once at his uncle before moving on, through the lobby to return to the installation room.

He stills as he enters, his skin prickling again. His eyes narrow in on a young woman, her brown hair twisted up into two buns. Her back is to him, her face in profile, but he _knows_. Instantly, he knows.

He feels himself take a few steps closer, his heart beating erratically in his chest.

When she turns to him, sensing his gaze, her eyes are wide in confusion and surprise. Neji feels his breath still.

Their eyes lock and it all rushes to him suddenly—every dream he's ever had about her flooding his brain. Is it possible that she is here, _really here_, in the flesh?

Neji's mouth forms the word, but his mind is woefully, uncharacteristically blank. He whispers in alarm, "You."

* * *

**A/N:** _So, full disclosure: I have only ever read one soulmate fic before, and it was vastly different than what I've written. I know that there are various tropes associated with soulmate fics, and I'm not sure mine ticks any of those boxes, but this is the story I wanted to tell, so. I hope you like it! The next installment is done, and I'm editing the third and last section currently, so I ask your patience. I think I'll probably have this all up by the end of this weekend._

_Next chapter: Tenten's take on things. Let me know your thoughts, if you have any! - KNO_


	2. a haunting

_**\- a haunting -**_

"Aw, fuck."

Tenten sighs and stares at the screen, watching as her character sinks to the bottom of the ocean, her health gauge dropping to zero. Tenten runs her fingers through her bangs in irritation and switches her attention to her laptop, where she types in the bug errors to fix later.

She leans back in her chair and re-shifts her laptop, the light from the window behind her hitting it just so. Tenten presses her lips together, her eyes flicking to the corner where _he_ has just appeared.

He regards her for a moment, eyes unreadable as ever, before opening his mouth, saying something she can't hear.

"I am not looking today," she tells him viciously.

Tenten shuts her laptop with a snap and begins getting ready.

* * *

_Kismet_ is crowded when Tenten rushes inside, two minutes late for her shift. Mirai nods at her cheerfully from the register, tapping in orders on the screen.

"Sorry," Tenten says as she ties on her apron, moving towards the espresso machine.

Mirai smoothly hands her the tickets and Tenten reaches for a cup.

Tenten had been working at _Kismet_ ever since she'd begun university. And while the pay was nothing to write home about and the clientele could be moody, demanding pricks, Tenten couldn't see herself working anywhere else.

Tsunade, _Kismet_'s owner, almost never came to the store—preferring instead to oversee operations from the cameras installed in the shop corners in the comfort of her signature bathrobe, lounging around her writer boyfriend's apartment. She would call every now and again to ask about something or other, or if one of her employee's had an issue with restocking.

Tenten, admittedly, was somewhat disappointed by Tsunade's hands-off business strategy. Tsunade had once been a great artist herself—_which is probably only half the reason I wanted to work here in the first place,_ Tenten thinks. But Tsunade aside, _Kismet_ was like Tenten's second home, even if it meant she constantly smelled like coffee.

Sighing, Tenten calls out drink order after drink order, eventually slumping against the counter next to Mirai almost an hour later, when the rush dies down.

"Why were you late?" Mirai asks, readjusting her bandana.

Tenten shakes her head. _Because__** someone**_ _keeps popping up when I'm trying to focus._ Aloud, she says, "I was working on the game. It keeps glitching."

Mirai hums, sympathetic. "Still drowning?"

"Yep," Tenten huffs. "I keep shifting around the code, but it's not working for some reason."

Mirai considers this, her eyes flickering over the customers hunched over laptops or reading at the shop's scattered tables. With a sly smile, Mirai jokes, "Maybe you should program a magic dolphin to save her."

Tenten rolls her eyes. "She shouldn't _need_ saving. She's a fucking ninja."

Mirai laughs and pats Tenten's shoulder. "You'll figure it out. And if you don't . . . well, what's one more semester, right?"

"Very funny," Tenten scoffs.

Her hands, always busy, reach for a spare napkin left behind on the counter. Plucking a pen from behind her ear, she starts drawing _him_, submerged by inky black water, an air bubble poised at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

For half a year, she's been dreaming about him a few times a month. And then, one day he mysteriously begins to edge in at the corner of her vision, standing just at her periphery. Tenten can't help herself—she looks every time, drawn to this nameless stranger. Her curiosity is unending, but to her profound disappointment, he always disappears the moment she turns her eyes to meet his.

One evening in late May, Tenten is getting out of the shower, toweling off her hair when she sees him inside her mirror. Her head turns so sharply she gets a crick in her neck, expecting him to vanish like always.

But this time he doesn't. Since she's spent the better part of a year stealing glimpses, she had yet to form a clear picture of what he looked like. She knew his hair was on the longish side, that he had a sharp nose, a thin mouth. Eyes that saw through her.

And now, as she gazes into her fogged-up mirror, she can study him clearly.

He regards her passively, as if this is something he does regularly—appearing as a disembodied head inside some random girl's bathroom.

His mouth is indeed thin, but only from pressing his lips together in a line of faint disapproval. His face is long, oval-shaped, with a strong jaw, and framed by dark hair. His expression is made more severe by the dignified features of his nose and cheekbones. But his eyes—his eyes are the thing that sends a shiver up Tenten's spine.

"What do you want?" she asks him, gripping the edge of her sink. "Why are you haunting me?"

He stares back at her, carefully expressionless. She searches him for an answer, but he doesn't speak, doesn't move even, only blinking calmly.

Tenten shuts her eyes tightly and counts to ten, before opening them again. She purses her lips and reaches out, touching her fingertips to the mirror. They graze the corner of his mouth, and he holds her gaze, his lips pulling to the side into a half-smile—is it a smile or is he smirking at her?

"This is getting old," she tells him. She withdraws her hand, and he is gone once more.

* * *

The next day she goes to see a fortune teller.

"Dear, you seem troubled," the woman says as Tenten sits down across from her. She sniffles into her shawl and clears her throat, considering Tenten with watery eyes. "Excuse me—allergies."

Tenten folds her hands in her lap, considering what to say. "I think I'm being haunted by a ghost."

The woman hums. "A ghost, you say?"

"I—I keep seeing someone in my dreams, in my periphery, over my shoulder. . ." Tenten trails off, shaking her head. "Last night he was inside my mirror."

The woman raises an eyebrow in interest. "Inside. . .?"

"My mirror," Tenten confirms, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

The woman hums again, the loose skin of her neck trembling. "Has someone you known died recently? A relative or. . .?"

Tenten shakes her head, looking down at her hands. "No. I don't—I don't have anyone, really."

"Interesting."

The woman shuffles to her feet and moves to a cabinet behind her, removing a sheaf of paper and an obnoxious-looking quill pen.

"You are an artist," the woman states, her eyes lingering on the ink stains on Tenten's fingers.

"Sort of," Tenten replies, begrudgingly taking the pen offered to her.

"Let me see what you see."

Tenten sighs and runs a hand through her bangs, staring down at the blank page. And then—God, it comes so easy.

Tenten sketches erratically, her hand flying from his furrowed eyebrows, to his square jaw, his strong, folded arms. She loves drawing his hair—it is so long, framing his face, making him look more serious, spilling over his broad shoulders.

She hesitates only a moment at his eyes, repressing the surge of heat that floods her body. She goes slowly, trying to capture their exact expression. She finishes slightly unsatisfied with her work, feeling she didn't quite do him justice.

Gingerly, the woman tugs the paper over to consult, looking down at it. After a second she says cryptically, tapping the drawing, "A tall and handsome stranger, a gentle spirit. . . You two are made for each other. Soulmates. He will come to you soon. Be patient."

Tenten bites back her reply—that of course he'll come back, he's been haunting her for months, for fuck's sake. But she submits to the woman's insistence she be "purified" anyway, sitting in the small cramped room while incense burns on the table between them.

That evening, as Tenten is brushing her teeth for bed, he appears again. She bends down to rinse out her mouth, and when she straightens, he is there, leaning against the mirror frame.

They consider one another in silence, blinking at each other. Finally, Tenten tells him, "You owe me fifty bucks."

* * *

That night, he visits her again.

She is at _Kismet_, filling orders like usual, when she feels him step inside the store.

He is tall—slightly taller than her, maybe by a few inches. Her head jerks up and their eyes meet.

She wants to scream at him to get out. She wants to rush over and embrace him. But she does neither. Instead, she drops the coffee pot and vaguely listens to it shatter as it hits the floor.

"Tenten!" whines Mirai. "Be more careful!"

Tenten can't pull her eyes from him.

His mouth is slightly parted—as if he's in as much shock as she is. Behind her, Tenten can feel Mirai fussing with a broom.

_God, his eyes_, Tenten thinks, frozen to the spot. _Like he can see right through me._

"Here," Mirai says brusquely, shoving a broom into Tenten's chest.

Tenten's gaze falters, sweeping from the crease of irritation in Mirai's forehead to the broken pieces of the coffee pot on the floor. She sighs and glances back up to catch his eye again—but he is leaving, his back straight and tense as he walks out the front door.

Tenten swallows back the lump in her throat and crouches to pick up the larger glass shards. A piece of glass punctures her finger, and a bright spot of blood trickles down her finger.

Tenten shudders and opens her eyes, cradling her hand to her chest, covered in sweat. She groans and turns onto her side, falling back into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Tenten only knows Hinata Hyuga in passing. They'd shared a handful of classes in the last few years, though their focuses were quite different; Hinata going into more traditional routes, while Tenten fixated on graphic design. They had collaborated on numerous group and class projects over the last couple of semesters.

Tenten liked her well-enough—Hinata was quiet and shy in large groups, though seemed more comfortable when her attention could be given to one or two people. She'd sought Tenten out frequently to consult over class notes in the last year. So, Tenten is unsurprised when Hinata approaches her at the conclusion of their typography class one brisk fall morning.

"Good morning, Hinata," Tenten greets good-naturedly.

Hinata smiles back, encouraged by Tenten's easygoing disposition. "Good morning. I was coming to ask you if you have the notes from last Friday? I was out sick."

"Oh, yes," Tenten says, reaching for her notebook. She rustles through the pages for a moment before laying it flat on the table in front of her.

Hinata shoots her a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Tenten. You always take the best notes," she murmurs in her soft tone. Hinata withdraws her phone and takes a few photos of the pages.

"The lecture was kind of boring, so let me know if my notes don't make sense. I can tell you what I remember," Tenten offers, placing the notebook back in her bag.

"Thank you," Hinata says.

Tenten nods easily and gets to her feet. They walk towards the door and Tenten asks conversationally, "What are you up to tonight? Studying?"

"No, I have an exhibition at a gallery. I'm leaving now to go set up."

"An exhibition? Nice!" Tenten exclaims, glancing at her. A blush is rising on Hinata's cheeks. "Do you have a theme?"

Hinata nods, tugging on the end of one of her braids. "Yes. It's called 'Flora'." She looks at Tenten for a second then says, "You're more than welcome to come see it. It's only for tonight."

Tenten chews on her lip, running her afternoon schedule through her head. "What time is it over? I have a shift this afternoon."

"Oh, the gallery will stay open for a few hours. . . We'll probably finish at ten."

"I'll come by then, after my shift," Tenten says, smiling.

Hinata grins, genuinely pleased, and then waves as she and Tenten part ways.

* * *

Tenten ends another long shift at _Kismet_ with aching feet and sticky skin. She sighs as she changes in the coffee shop bathroom, pulling off her jeans. She almost regrets telling Hinata she would come by the gallery; her bones ache and her eyes feel dull, heavy with exhaustion. _But I'd be a bad friend not to show when I said I would_, she reminds herself.

Grunting, Tenten leans against the stall and tugs on the knee-length black dress she'd stuffed into her backpack before her shift. When she consults her face in the mirror, Tenten winces—the dark circles under her eyes are atrocious; her video game was still producing loads of bugs that kept her up until the early hours of the morning.

She splashes her face with water and dries it with a paper towel, fussing absently with her bangs. She feels marginally better when she steps back out into the shop, waving her hand at Mirai in goodbye.

It had rained during the afternoon, leaving the awnings lining the sidewalk dripping. Tenten skirts past puddles and shrugs on her jacket, shivering a little in the cool autumn air.

The gallery is a handful of blocks down from _Kismet_. As Tenten nears, she sees that it's a nice, white-washed building with large windows in the front. Warm, soft lighting spills out onto the wet street, and Tenten sighs in contentment.

She slips through the front door of the gallery and ducks past a cloister of middle-aged art types, sipping glasses of wine. She glances quickly around her, searching for someone she recognizes from class.

She'd never been to this gallery before—she often only frequented exhibits for class credit, or if there were free artist events that other students were involved in. This one is pristine—white walls, white floor, clean and bright lighting.

Tenten squeezes past another group of elderly businessmen, looking around curiously at the artwork hanging in the lobby. She doesn't recognize any of the pieces, but Hinata's theme is evident: flowers in season.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Tenten wanders into the main gallery room and stops in her tracks, her lips parting in surprise.

There are sunflowers. Everywhere. Rows and rows of sunflowers, their golden yellow petals turned upward, seeking the sun. They lie in neat rows, leaving space to wander through. She sees a few people had ventured out into the middle of the installation, looking around them in delight.

Tenten feels herself move to the edge of the first row, her eyes roving over the nearest sunflowers. She crouches down, her eyes narrowing in analysis. A smile graces her mouth, and she shakes her head in wonder.

"Tenten, you came," comes a quiet voice over her shoulder.

Tenten stands to her full height and grins at Hinata, noting the girl's happy flush. "This is incredible, Hinata. You used papier-mâchè for all of this? How did you do it?"

Hinata's blush deepens and she self-consciously begins to twirl a lock of hair around her finger. "I had a lot of help—from my sister and cousin. Most of them I made ahead of time, but transporting them and setting up was a chore. It took ages, but—" Hinata glances at her handiwork, a small smile affixing to the corner of her mouth "—I'm pleased with how it came out."

"You should be," Tenten replies, scanning the room again. "Did you do those paintings in the lobby too?"

Hinata nods. Tenten grins at her. "I really like it. It's a nice theme."

"Thank you. There are some refreshments at the back of the gallery if you'd like some." Someone calls Hinata's name, and she smiles at Tenten apologetically. "Thank you for stopping by. I appreciate it."

Tenten waves her on, watching as Hinata goes over to greet another attendee. She drifts into the field of sunflowers, her fingers twitching as she brushes against the stalks, smiling. She stops in the middle of the installation, slowly taking it all in.

Tenten feels a twinge at the back of her neck. Frowning, she looks over her shoulder, back across the field of papier-mâchè sunflowers.

And somehow, it's _him_—the man from the mirror, the one she's been glancing at from the corner of her eye for the better part of a year. He's gazing at her in barely concealed shock, his eyes wide.

Tenten's mouth goes dry, dread filling her lungs. "You," she murmurs.

* * *

**A/N:** _The last installment will be up soon. Thanks for reading. :) -KNO_


	3. faith, rest

_**\- faith for the faithless, rest for the weary -**_

"_You."_

It is like being in a dream all over again. She's standing in the middle of Hinata's papier-mâchè sunflowers, and Neji doesn't know what to do or say.

She's here. _Really_ here, not a figment of his imagination, not a passing thought, or a fever dream. Real—flesh and blood, with eyes that are considering him warily and a mouth that is pursed in uncertainty.

Neji stares at her and focuses on breathing steadily, his eyes unwavering from hers.

The moment stretches on, and then she opens her mouth to speak. How is it possible that her voice in his dreams matches the one that's being spoken now? How could he imagine it so clearly?

It takes a second for her words to filter into his brain for comprehension. But then: "Stop stalking me."

Neji frowns, something in his chest shuddering to a stop. "What?" he manages to reply.

_This can't be happening._ Tenten freezes, her blood shuddering in her veins. She watches his lips part in surprise, his forehead knitting in bemusement. _Ghost. He was supposed to be a ghost, _she thinks.

"He's not real," Tenten mutters to herself, clutching her bag to her side. "He can't be."

The man looks back at her, his eyes wide, expression frozen. Tenten analyzes him, her eyes trailing from his long hair, to his proud mien, his intense gaze. Her lips purse. "Stop stalking me," she hisses again.

His features shift, eyes narrowing. "I'm not stalking you," he replies, indignant.

His voice is different than she imagined it would be. In all her glimpses of him, she'd expected a commanding tone, a bitter one, each syllable pointed and pronged. Instead, his voice is deep and soft, gentle even. Tenten swallows, her heart fluttering a few times in her chest.

"I don't believe you," she replies flatly. "I keep seeing you everywhere, and I'm tired of having to look over my shoulder each time I go out. So stop it."

He stares at her, his forehead creasing slightly. _Is he as confused as me?_ Tenten wonders.

"I'm not following you," he finally says, his expression moving towards consternation. "Why are you here?"

"I was invited," Tenten says defensively, crossing her arms.

"Who invited you?" he presses.

"None of your business," Tenten bites back, watching him swell. His jaw clenches, and Tenten knows that look because somehow, she's seen it before—he's gearing up for unending questioning, stubbornness settling onto his broad shoulders like a mantle. And Tenten cannot—_will not_—do this right now in the middle of all these papier-mâchè sunflowers.

So, she turns on her heel and flees the room.

Neji swallows carefully as she walks away, disappearing into the back of the gallery. _I should follow her, right? Is that what I should do? _Neji isn't sure—she had accused him of stalking her, after all. His mouth tightens at that, offended. Like he would ever.

_But—why would she say that? Unless?_

Pushing aside the insult, Neji turns toward the front door of the gallery. He spots her almost immediately, struggling to make it through the clumps of guests. Her face is flushed.

He watches her bump the arm of a well-known gallery patron, who frowns deeply at her. She smiles sheepishly and mutters an apology, her brown eyes beseeching. Neji feels the weight in his chest sink deeper.

She is so distracted by escaping that she only notices him when she is two paces from the door. She holds his gaze for a moment, a question in her eyes. Wordlessly, Neji opens the door and waits until she is through it before following her out onto the sidewalk.

It is evening now. The sky is streaked with purples and blues and reds and pinks. Neji's gaze floats up to consider the composition, looking for an answer.

He feels her staring at him. _What does she see?_

When he looks back to her, she is rustling through her bag. When she glances up again, she withdraws a business card and holds it out to him. Neji takes it and skims the simple red type: _Kismet Coffee Shop—Leave nothing to chance!_

"What is this?" he asks her.

She irritably runs her fingers through her bangs; Neji notes that this only accentuates her disheveled appearance. "It's the address of where I work. Come by tomorrow, in the morning, and we can discuss . . . whatever this is."

Neji turns the card over in his hands, thinking. She studies him for a moment, and then shrugs. She turns and begins to walk away, saying over her shoulder, "Or don't. You can disappear again if you want—it's not like any of this makes sense anyway."

She continues down the path, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. Neji waits until she disappears from his sight before heading back into the gallery. She doesn't look back.

* * *

When Tenten arrives home, she mechanically moves to her computer and switches it on, navigating to her video game program. Her fingers stiffly execute commands, and then she is staring at her character, standing on the island. She watches as the pixelated sand crumbles beneath her and she falls into the ocean, drifting slowly, slowly to the bottom.

Tenten feels the panic in her throat and shuts the laptop, wandering into the bathroom. She takes a shower, wanting to be rid of the stink from the day, and tries not to dwell on if she'll see that familiar face in the mirror.

When she gets out, her head automatically turns towards the glass. A heavy weight rests at the bottom of her stomach.

He isn't there.

* * *

The next morning, Neji walks past _Kismet_ a few times before he summons the courage to go inside. It's not that he's afraid of _her_, necessarily. But this entire situation is bizarre and confusing and he doesn't know what to do.

He'd barely slept the night before, mulling over what all of this meant and how and why. He doesn't remember drifting off, but when he woke, Neji was disturbed. For the first time in a year, his sleep had been dreamless.

_It doesn't mean anything_, he told himself sharply as he got dressed. _You're over-analyzing._

Neji places his hand on the door and takes a measured breath. _Come on. You've waited a year for this moment._ And with that disconcerting thought, he enters.

His eyes find her almost immediately; she is tucked next to the espresso machine behind the counter, her head bowed as she assembles an order. The girl at the counter smiles politely at him, welcoming him cheerfully, "Good morning, sir."

Neji sees her eyes flick up from her hands. She looks surprised—_why is she surprised? She told me to come here._

But then, she looks away quickly, turning her back to him as she reaches for a syrup bottle.

Anxiously, Neji steps up to the register, his eyes lifting to scan the menu hanging on the wall. Helpfully, the girl at the register begins, "Sir, would you like to try a pumpkin—"

"He doesn't like pumpkin."

Tenten's hands still over the pour over she's handling, biting her lip. _God, what made me say that?_ She glances over her shoulder to see him staring at her. He looks dazed—stunned, really.

_Where did that come from?_ Tenten wonders.

Neji breaks their gaze and looks back to Mirai. He mutters, a faint blush on his pale cheeks, "Green tea is fine. Thank you."

Tenten exhales slowly and watches him walk away and sit down at a table by the window. He clasps his hands and stares at them.

"What's going on?" Mirai asks, pouring hot water over a green tea bag.

Tenten shakes her head and starts to undo her apron. "Taking my break. I'll be back in fifteen."

She can hear Mirai grumbling behind her, but Tenten pays her no mind, quickly grabbing a water and his tea. When she sits across from him, sliding over his mug, his eyes lift to meet hers. He looks nervous.

Swallowing, Tenten uncaps the water and takes a big gulp, her cheeks puffing. "So," she begins, her eyebrows drawing together.

Neji wishes he felt some semblance of control in this situation. But—God, she's _right there._ There's a coffee stain on her t-shirt and her mascara has smudged a little at the corner of her right eye. And he can't stop staring.

He grasps his mug and drinks steadily, even though he knows it's too hot. And of course—he winces at the scorching liquid. He sets down the mug with more force than is necessary. "So," he replies, unsure of where—or how—to begin.

Tenten waits, curling her fingers into her palms. Neji clears his throat. "How did you know that?"

Tenten's forehead furrows. "Know what?"

"That I don't like pumpkin." Neji swallows, his expression hard. "Are you having me investigated?"

Tenten snorts. "I'm a barista. Do you really think I could afford that?"

Neji taps a finger against his mug, waiting for an explanation. Noncommittal, Tenten shrugs, at a loss for how to explain. "I . . . I just knew. Somehow."

Neji stares at her for a long moment before looking away, sipping his steaming tea. Tenten moves her water bottle across the table, watching him. "I thought you were a ghost," she eventually admits. "I went to see a fortune teller a few weeks ago. . . She said that—that we were soulmates."

A blush rises to his cheeks. He determinedly drinks from his mug again, forehead creased. Tenten sighs, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She glances back to the counter, where Mirai is conspicuously watching them.

"I don't believe in soulmates," he says finally, pointedly looking out the window.

Tenten pulls her gaze from Mirai to glance at him briefly. His jaw is set, his eyes unwavering on the pedestrians outside.

Well. Okay, then. Disjointedly, she reaches for the water bottle and drinks again, the woman's words echoing in her ears: _"A tall and handsome stranger, a gentle spirit. You are made for each other."_

Tenten analyzes him for a moment—this man seems anything but gentle. When he isn't looking confused, his gazes are sharp and direct—that is, when he even manages to look at her.

"Noted," she mutters, unsure of how to proceed.

He nods once and shifts his attention to his tea, watching the steam rise into the air. After another long moment of silence, he sticks out his hand in an introductory fashion and says in a hard tone, "I'm Neji."

Tenten doesn't want to shake his hand, but she reaches out and grasps it briefly. "Tenten," she replies. His mouth twists in a peculiar way—_does he think I made my name up?_

_Why did I shake her hand? This isn't a fucking business meeting,_ Neji asks himself sharply. He sighs again and rubs a hand down his face.

"How old are you?" he asks, trying to keep his tone free of curiosity.

"Twenty-five. And you?"

Neji stares at her for a few seconds before glancing back down at his tea. "The same. Why are you. . . What brought you here? To work here?"

Tenten feels her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Is he judging her, because she's a barista? Defensively, she says, "Not everyone can afford to go to school full-time." She determinedly looks away, her eyes tripping over the shop's customers. After a moment, she says lightly, "I'll graduate this coming spring. If my projects pass, that is."

She watches him swallow, his eyes flitting up to her then briefly skirting away once more.

"You're—what are you studying?"

Neji feels her words on his lips before she says them. "Graphic design," she murmurs, a strange expression on her face. "At the art college."

Neji feels his body seize. God, how was it possible that they'd attended the same university and never seen each other before? Never spoken? Distantly, he hears himself ask, "Have you decided on your graduation project yet?"

Tenten nods, her mouth pulling to the side in a grimace. "I'm working on it now."

"A video game?" Neji says aloud, before he can check his thoughts.

Tenten's eyes widen a fraction, and they stare at each other. Tremulously, she says, "How did you know that?"

Neji shakes his head, unable to pull his eyes from her own. "I don't know."

"This is weird," Tenten mutters, seemingly to herself. "How—how long did you. . . ?" she trails off, not wanting to finish her sentence.

His jaw twitches. Tenten watches his fingers fidget with the handle on his mug. "A year." He gazes back at her, searching. "And you?"

Tenten wets her lips, shaking her head slightly in wonder. "The same. Almost a year. Did you—was I in your mirror too?"

Neji's expression changes to one of confusion. He shakes his head slowly. "No. I—I dreamed of you."

Tenten leans across the table, closer to him, desperate to know. "What kind of dreams?" she asks in a hushed tone.

Neji blanches. _Do __**not**__ tell her she was naked. Don't._ "I—they were all different. . . One time I—I was at the bottom of this river, with you floating above me and—"

"Stop," Tenten says, holding her hand up to silence him. She closes her eyes briefly and pinches the bridge of her nose, summoning her strength.

Silently, Neji watches Tenten get to her feet and stride purposefully away towards the back of the store. The other barista stares at him, a line of curiosity on her brow.

Tenten returns seconds later, her hand clenched around a small, square napkin. She does not sit again, thrusting the napkin into his hands. Neji stares down at it and feels his heart shudder in his chest.

It is him. Him—from his dream. His hair is curling, drifting, clearly submerged in water. An air bubble poises at his mouth. And his eyes—Neji can't quite believe it—his own eyes stare back up at him, earnest and pleading and inquisitive. _How does she know?_

As he looks at her again, an unspoken understanding passes between them.

"Okay?" she murmurs, her hands trembling at her sides.

"Okay," Neji replies.

He leaves the coffee shop after that, his chest buzzing, Tenten's number pressed into the palm of his hand.

* * *

"So. How did you come to own a gallery at twenty-five?"

"I manage it," Neji corrects, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

It is a few days after their first conversation, and Neji is walking Tenten back to the university campus. She'd just finished her shift at _Kismet_ and had promptly suggested they get to know one another better. But, so far it had been a stilted endeavor, since both somehow already knew most of the answers through their weird, cosmic connection.

"Your family owns it, then," Tenten deduces, chewing on a thumbnail.

"Yes," Neji answers.

"You . . . were you a painter? At school?"

Neji's skin erupts in goosebumps. _This is the stupidest idea. Why did I agree to this?_ "Yes."

"Still life? Or figures?" Tenten prompts, her eyes bouncing from his profile to the sidewalk, then back to him again.

"Landscapes," Neji says, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

"Oh."

Neji almost smiles at her dull tone. "Let me guess. Someone failed Landscaping class."

Next to him, Tenten scoffs. "I didn't _fail_. I just—they can get boring."

"Now you're calling me boring?" Neji poses, his tone flat. His mouth twitches.

"I know you're teasing me, Neji Hyuga."

Neji sobers a little, his eyes skipping back to hers.

It is peculiar. They'd barely spoken, text or otherwise, since Neji had come to _Kismet_ earlier in the week. And yet—it is like they have known each other for ages. They'd fallen into a comfortable rapport, despite the strange instances where they seemed to know what the other will say before they say it.

"And you?" Neji says, "Why video games?"

Tenten shrugs. "They're a nice escape from reality."

Neji silently sifts through the layers of this answer. A moment later, he murmurs, "I'm sorry you were alone so often. I—I wouldn't wish it for you."

Tenten laughs aloud, derisive. She turns to him, worry on her brow, her brown eyes dark with curiosity and fear and amusement. "Neji. You don't know anything about me."

"I do. Somehow," Neji retorts with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm just as surprised by it as you."

Tenten rolls her eyes, her steps quick on the sidewalk. "You don't look it." She pauses, then says, "But I should know better—you are a gentle soul, after all."

Neji blinks, forehead furrowing as Tenten leads them across campus. As they enter a shady area of trees, Tenten whispers to him through the dark, "Tell me something I won't know, Neji Hyuga."

_Not the naked dreams_, Neji tells himself firmly. His cheeks flush, and Neji is thankful for the darkness surrounding them. He is not sure what leads him to say it aloud—maybe it's because this whole conversation is bizarre, or maybe he really does trust her already with the things that weigh so heavily on his shoulders. He thinks for a moment, then murmurs, "Sometimes I wish I could quit managing the gallery. So I could paint full-time."

Tenten hums next to him, and Neji feels the tension leave his shoulders. "But you paint now, right?"

"Sporadically. It—the gallery—demands a lot of my time. Setting up artist showcases and coordinating new pieces to introduce. Keeping our patrons interested."

"Sounds soul-sucking, to be honest," Tenten mutters as they reach the steps leading to the library. She turns to face him. Neji studies her—her braids are coming loose, strands of hair hanging limp. There are circles under her eyes—_from her senior project_, Neji realizes—but the smile on her lips is kind and warm. Neji takes another step closer to her.

"Will you show me one of your paintings?" she asks, chewing on her pinky nail.

Neji nods, unable to look away. "Only if you show me the game you're working on."

Tenten smiles and Neji smiles back.

* * *

On Saturday, after her shift at _Kismet_ ends, Tenten walks the few blocks down to the art gallery, her laptop under her arm.

When she arrives, Neji is showing around a small group of middle-aged men and women. He discreetly waves her to the back room, and Tenten obliges, walking down the hallway until she comes across an office.

She sits at the desk and leans back, enjoying the plush leather chair. On the walls, there are a variety of paintings. Her eyes linger on a few portraits, but after a moment she is drawn to a small, framed painting hung low on the wall, almost obscured by the desktop computer. She shifts the monitor slightly, bending towards it. The painting is of a moody-looking pond, thick and dark wisps of oil paint making the water look murky and deep.

She looks up, dazed, when Neji appears in the office doorway, his eyes immediately going to the painting. He raises an eyebrow, considering her. "How did you know that one was mine?"

Tenten smirks, shrugging. "Just a feeling."

Neji holds her gaze for a moment before shaking his head. "This won't ever be not weird."

Tenten doesn't reply. It is inexplicable, but she has seemingly adjusted to the strangeness of her situation. Supernatural things don't bother her—she encourages them, even. So what if this stranger is her soulmate? Doesn't it make sense to prove it, before she resists everything?

"Shall we?" she asks, gesturing to her computer.

Neji nods and moves an extra chair next to her. Tenten tries not to deeply inhale Neji's cologne as she pulls up her program, swiveling the screen for Neji to see.

She taps through a few keys to start from the beginning, and Neji watches carefully as Tenten navigates to her weapon selection. "How long did this take you?"

Tenten hums, musing as she stares at the screen. "Half of last semester and the whole summer. But I've had the idea for a while. I just needed to write the program for it."

Neji nods, looking back at the flickering main character. "Why a battle axe?" he asks, eyes lingering on the brunette caricature, toting an axe twice their body size.

"Seemed like the right fit. Cut enemies in two? Check. Chop wood? Check. You can even use it as a boomerang—look." She taps a few key commands, and Neji watches as the character swings the axe once before letting it fly. The axe flies off-screen, and then a moment later, the character holds up their hand to pluck it from the air as it re-enters the opposite screen.

Neji glances at Tenten, a smirk tugging at his mouth. Her eyes are studying the screen, a slight crease between her eyes. "I wonder if it would be better to. . ." she trails off, tapping the keyboard in thought.

They are sitting close enough that Neji can smell the coffee that lingers on her clothes, the sharp scent of ink, a whiff of subtle honey shampoo.

And he is overwhelmed all of a sudden with the desire to kiss her, to pull her closer, to run his hands through her bangs, whisper "I can't stop thinking about you" against her mouth.

He straightens, clearing his throat. Tenten glances at him. "Sorry," she apologizes, an embarrassed smile on her lips. "I can zone out sometimes."

Neji shakes his head, dismissing it. He gets to his feet and walks a few paces away, trying to calm his racing pulse.

Behind him, Tenten says sadly, "I keep having an issue with my main character."

"What issue?" Neji asks, looking to the paintings hanging on the wall.

"She keeps dying. She ends up on this island, and the sand just crumbles beneath her. She sinks to the bottom of the ocean and drowns."

Neji catches Tenten's eye, his eyebrow raised in a question. Tenten looks back, her head tilting to the side. "Funny, isn't it? What with the dreams and everything?" she says, voice distant.

Neji nods, expression still. "What are you going to do? To stop her from drowning?"

Tenten taps a finger against her chin and murmurs thoughtfully, a smile edging along the corner of her mouth, "Maybe she just needs a helping hand."

* * *

"Who are we meeting again?"

Neji's eyes are trained forward, his gaze sweeping over traffic and pedestrians as they cross the street. His hand floats around the small of her back, and Tenten wonders how he would take it if she wove her fingers with his. Not that she was thinking about doing it or anything.

"Lee," Neji replies, glancing up at the nearest street sign.

Tenten hums. "And who is that?"

Neji replies in a strained tone, "My friend."

"I have to say—I'm a little surprised. You don't strike me as the type," she murmurs, turning her head to hide her smirk.

Neji's gaze drifts to her, an eyebrow quirked in question. "The type to what?"

"Have friends," Tenten says easily, laughing as Neji rolls his eyes.

His hand briefly touches her hip as they change direction, headed east. Tenten works to keep her expression indifferent.

She clears her throat. "So, Lee. How long have you known him?" Tenten asks, shoving her hands inside her pockets to keep from taking hold of Neji's fingers.

"Since I was twelve. We did aikido together until we graduated high school."

"So, he can kick your ass?"

Neji's jaw twitches, and he looks at her again. "Does it matter?" he finally responds.

Tenten shrugs. "Maybe," she answers. She hears him sigh, but if it's out of exasperation or amusement, she isn't sure.

* * *

"Tenten, has Neji told you about all of the times he lost in our sparring sessions?" Lee begins almost the moment they sit down.

Tenten chuckles. "No."

"Well, let me begin by saying that Neji has always been a very talented fighter. But, unfortunately, I exceed him in many areas. For example. . ."

Neji pinches the bridge of his nose as Lee commences his story, his large dark eyes fixed unwavering on Tenten.

He never should have introduced them. _How stupid am I?_ Neji asks himself, watching as Tenten laughs again at Lee's story. A knot of jealousy in his stomach tightens. _I'm not jealous_, Neji reinforces for the eleventh time. _Lee is amusing. He tells good stories. She's entertained; it's not—_

Neji's thoughts freeze as he watches Tenten clutch Lee's shoulder for a moment, joyful tears forming in her eyes. Neji's jaw clenches. _It's nothing._ Neji frowns, looking away from them. _Why do you care anyway? It's not as if. . ._

Neji takes a sip of his water, absently shaking his head. _Stop thinking_, he commands.

"Neji?" Tenten says.

Neji looks at her, his anxiety easing a little at the lingering grin on her mouth.

She tilts her head at him, her brown eyes forming a question. He sees her choose not to ask it aloud and wonders why. Instead, she says, "Lee said that you used to play _Street Fighter_ together. Why haven't we played yet?"

Neji sends Lee a swift glare. His friend reacts with a wide grin, thrusting a thumbs-up towards Neji's face. "He should know better than to bring that up."

Tenten raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "I've gotta see this. Will you show me? Later?"

Neji feels himself nod, inwardly grimacing. _Dammit, Lee._

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Neji is successful in pulling Tenten away from Lee. After making Neji promise to bring Tenten along next time, Lee finally waves them on, shouting effusive goodbyes.

Tenten confidently fits her hand around Neji's arm, leaning into him as they start down the sidewalk. Neji pushes away the shiver that threatens to rush down his spine.

"I like him." She pauses, then asks, "Is he single?"

Neji feels his throat tighten. The knot in his stomach cinches. "Yes," he replies rigidly.

He hears her hum in thought. Pushing past his insulted feelings, Neji asks, "What did you like about him?"

"He's funny. And strong," Tenten says, smiling at her words.

_So am I_, Neji thinks in irritation.

"So, should we go to my place to play _Street Fighter_ or. . . ?" Tenten asks.

Neji shakes his head, surprised as the words leave his mouth: "Let's go to my apartment. It's closer."

Tenten nods. Neji feels her hand squeeze his bicep, and wonders if she is mentally testing his physique against Lee's. _God, I hope not._

* * *

Tenten tells herself she's not nervous, being in Neji's apartment. _This is normal. This is what friends do. _Another part of her whispers, quite insistently, _You're not friends. He's basically a stranger._

Tenten watches Neji as he crouches in front of his television cabinet, searching for the _Street Fighter _disc. _He doesn't feel like a stranger though_, Tenten thinks, rubbing her palms on her jeans. _He feels like. . . Like he's mine. Like he's meant for me._

His back still to her, Neji murmurs, fiddling with the game console, "What were you going to say earlier that you didn't? When we were with Lee?"

Tenten anxiously chews on a fingernail. "I was hoping you didn't see that."

Neji snorts. "I see everything, Tenten."

"I—I was going to ask if you were jealous."

Neji glances at her over his shoulder. He blinks and then turns to the console, placing the disc inside. "Did you mean it? Earlier?" he asks after a pause.

Tenten looks at him quizzically.

Neji gets to his feet, looking at her directly. "About Lee," Neji clarifies impatiently.

Tenten studies him for a moment before saying, "I was joking."

Neji flushes, shaking his head. "No, you weren't."

Tenten feels her chest give way with guilt. "This whole . . . reading each other's minds thing is spooky," she mutters.

"Why did you think telling me a lie would work then? If we can read each other's minds?" Neji poses, walking over to settle next to her on the couch. He hands her one of the game controllers.

"It was only a white lie," she whispers guiltily.

Neji scoffs, flipping through the character selection. "You'll pay for that," he murmurs.

Tenten elbows him in the ribs, closing more of the space between them. "We'll see. None of these chumps stands a chance against Chun-Li."

She feels, rather than sees, the smile that spreads across Neji's mouth. The tension between them abates until it is gone altogether.

* * *

It is odd, how easy it becomes—the hanging out, the walks to and from campus or to and from the art gallery or to and from dinner or breakfast or lunch or to Neji's apartment or to _Kismet_, the playful banter, the vicious arguing over _Street Fighter_ and coffee vs. tea and figure drawing vs. still life, and God, so many other things. It is endless, the talking, the comprehension, the vacillation between 'this is weird' and 'I understand all the deepest parts of you'. And it is frightening. This closeness, this understanding, this _insight_ is daunting and exhilarating and bewildering.

By the end of three weeks, Neji and Tenten have become so ingrained in each other's routine, that not only does it scare them both to death, they also can't imagine it being any other way.

One evening, Tenten is hanging out at the gallery, sketching, while Neji is finishing up his work for the night. He shuts off the main floor lights and wanders to the back where she's kneeling in front of a leather bench pressed back against the wall. He looks over her shoulder and catches her drawing a summer scene. His gaze lingers on the leaves that she'd managed to dapple with inky black sunlight.

"That's nice," he murmurs.

Tenten smiles, setting her pen down, massaging her hand.

"Cramp?" Neji asks.

Tenten nods, wincing. Neji sighs and crouches next to her, grasping her hand in-between his. He slowly kneads it, pressing his thumb against her tense points.

Tenten exhales, shutting her eyes tight against the pain. Neji is silent, watching her. When her hand is limp, free of tension, he gently lets go. Tenten releases a low breath, flexing her hand. They study one another for a long moment.

"Don't forget I can read your mind, Neji Hyuga," Tenten finally whispers to him.

Neji swallows. Then, he reaches out, his thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. Tenten seizes his collar and pulls him towards her. Their lips meet.

To Neji, it feels like he's kissed her thousands of times before. It has none of the lingering awkwardness that he'd always had with Sakura, none of the uncertainty. Feeling self-assured, he slides an arm around her waist, his other hand holding the back of her neck.

For Tenten, it is more akin to being set on fire. Her hands slide up to grasp him by the neck, keeping him firmly set. She feels desperate—like this is the last kiss she'll ever have with him, not their first. Boldly, she pulls him flush against her chest, their kiss deepening, steadying, slowing.

He pushes her away after a moment, breathless, eyes darting from her mouth to her eyes to the floor.

"This doesn't make sense," Neji says, shaking his head as he gets to his feet and steps away, putting distance between them. He clutches his forehead in confusion.

"Why does it have to?" Tenten asks. She absently brushes her fingers against her lips; they feel swollen.

"Because it does," Neji snaps, shooting her a look as he begins to pace.

"Sometimes things just . . . are, Neji," Tenten says, exasperated. "Maybe . . . maybe this thing between us is just meant to be. Why do you have to have everything figured out?"

Neji sends her a sharp look, his brow furrowed. "Because that's who I am."

Tenten sighs. She gets to her feet and slides onto the seat of the bench behind her, running a hand through her bangs. She feels like she's been doused in cold water. Tiredly, she says, "We shouldn't fight this. Whatever it is, we shouldn't fight it."

She watches him come to a stop, his hands resting on his hips, face titled upward in thought. He releases a defeated exhale. He turns to face her and Tenten studies him, wondering if she looks as lost as he does. "We could stop," she offers at the look in his eyes, something in her chest dropping.

Neji lifts a quizzical brow. "Stop?"

Tenten gestures between them limply. "You and me."

Neji stares at her for a long moment. "I don't think stopping will solve the issue," he retorts in a strained tone.

Tenten sinks back into the couch, glaring at him. "Then what do you suggest?"

He gazes at her, and Tenten can almost see his brain whirring, making calculations. Slowly, he says, "Everything about this, about you . . . it goes against my nature." He points to his chest and shakes his head. "I don't—I don't know what to do. What do you want from this? From me?"

Tenten shrugs. "I don't know."

Neji frowns, his mouth pursing.

Tenten bites the inside of her cheek, clamping down the words that had pushed their way into her mouth. But a few seconds later, they fly out anyway: "When we met, I felt something just . . . settle. Like—like there was this storm inside me I couldn't recognize or put a name to. And when I saw you it—everything stopped. Like I could finally . . . rest."

Tenten crosses her arms tightly against her chest, her gaze level. "That fortune teller I went to see a few weeks back—do you know what she said? She told me that the person that I'm waiting for—he would be for me. I thought she was being ridiculous, because . . . I've never needed anyone, you know?"

Neji says nothing, eyes not leaving her face.

"But even the thought of you disappearing makes my skin crawl. I don't want you to leave. I shouldn't—I can't be attached to you; I don't even know you."

"You and I both know that isn't true," Neji replies, raising an eyebrow. "You're . . . imprinted on my thoughts, on my memory. . . My skin. I—it's like you're a muscle memory."

"Something familiar," Tenten adds. "But not quite."

Neji nods, features tense. "What is this?" he mutters after a few seconds.

Tenten shrugs. "Hell, if I know. Maybe we are soulmates."

"Don't say things like that," Neji says in a forbidding tone.

"Why not? How else could we explain it?"

"I don't believe—"

"—In soulmates, yeah, I know," Tenten finishes pointedly, shooting him a look.

They regard each other in silence, weighing the other's expression.

Neji finally says, "It's natural with you. Talking. Arguing. Being together. It's all so . . . natural."

Tenten swallows past a lump in her throat and nods once in agreement.

"You terrify me." Neji's arms hang limply at his sides, his expression unsettled.

Tenten can't help the amused smirk that graces her lips. "Same here." She watches a series of emotions flicker across his face—God, when had she been able to recognize them all? "I'll take a chance on you, if you'll take one on me," she eventually offers.

Neji scoffs. He crosses his arms against his chest, condescension on his features once more. "I don't like to leave anything to chance, Tenten."

Her mouth twitches with a smile. "Neji, it would do you a world of good to let go for once." She shakes her head and turns back to her ink drawing. "Will you frame this in your office?" she asks, holding it up.

She watches Neji's jaw clench, his eyes softening with tenderness. "Yes," he says quietly.

* * *

At the end of November, Neji begins to organize a Christmas showcase for the gallery. Much to Hiashi's disapproval, Neji allows Hinata to install another exhibit—this time with Hanabi's help. When Hinata and Hanabi arrive with their supplies, two days before the event, Neji's cheeks flood with color.

"Isn't it . . . obnoxious?" he asks, watching his cousins assemble the strings from atop the scaffolding he'd set up.

Neji catches Hanabi rolling her eyes and frowns. Hinata replies, "It's a symbol of Christmas, Neji. It's romantic."

Neji eyes the white berries clinging to the green branches. "It's going to leave a mess," he mutters under his breath.

"Neji, if this is about not having someone to kiss, then I'm sure you could pay someone to—" Hanabi stops at the glare Neji sends her, smirking.

Distractedly, Hinata says, carefully arranging the mistletoe against the ceiling, "Neji already has someone to kiss."

Hanabi shoots a glance at her sister, an eyebrow raised doubtfully. "Oh, yeah? Who?"

Just as Neji begins to say, "It's none of your business—", Hinata interrupts with, "Tenten. From my class." She looks down over her shoulder at Neji, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "I don't know why you tried to hide it, Neji. I was sure to find out after you introduced her to Lee."

"You introduced her to _Lee_?" Hanabi gapes. "Before_ us_?"

Neji's face is fully flushed now. He keeps his tone even as he says awkwardly, "It's . . . new."

Hanabi snorts, letting go of the mistletoe branch she's holding and crossing her arms. Hinata lets out a small sound of indignation; some of the mistletoe drops to the floor of the gallery, berries rolling across the pristine white linoleum. Neji glares up at her.

"How new?"

_God, how do I explain this?_ he wonders. Aloud he mutters, "A few weeks." _And twelve months._

Hanabi harrumphs at this, studying him carefully. "How did you meet? Hinata introduced you?"

Neji shakes his head. He glances at Hinata, who looks just as curious. "At her Flora exhibition. In October."

"I invited her," Hinata explains to Hanabi passively, hooking another branch of mistletoe to the ceiling. "She's very nice. She's in graphic design."

Hanabi considers this. "Oh yeah? Do we really need another artist in this family?"

Neither Neji nor Hinata dignify this with a response.

* * *

A few days leading up to Christmas Eve, Tenten slides into the gallery, careful not to bump the patrons standing right in front of the door. She'd seen the Christmas exhibit in parts since Neji had begun gathering the elements at the end of November. She'd drop by the gallery after her shift, or she'd walk past on her way home, and Neji would be delegating to an assembly of people, or, more often, installing pieces himself.

A few nights ago, Tenten had stopped outside one of the front windows, where Neji was standing on the other side of the glass, maneuvering a large and delicate papercutting of a snowflake.

She'd watched him wrestle with the wiring for five minutes, his forehead creased and a string of silent swears leaving his mouth. When he'd noticed her standing there, his mouth had twisted—like he was happy to see her and trying not to show it.

It'd taken her all night to wipe the sloppy grin off her face.

But now, the Christmas exhibit is finally finished and Tenten can hardly believe her eyes at the world Neji has created.

In the front windows there are the two large, paper snowflakes that Neji had hung up a few days ago. Tenten leans forward to look closer and smiles—each dendrite was cut with a Christmas theme: sugarplums, presents, toy soldiers, bells, holly, horse-drawn carriages. . . Tenten can't even name all the intricate pictures.

She drifts slowly into the main room, and her eyes are drawn upward. The sheet that had obscured the ceiling for the past week had been taken down. Neji had mentioned in passing that Hinata had done another installation, though he'd refused to say what it would be. Tenten's mouth parts in wonder as she studies the ceiling—it is covered completely with mistletoe.

"Do you like it?" says a soft voice from behind her.

Tenten turns to see Hinata, dressed in a warm white sweater. "You did this?" Tenten asks.

Hinata nods, smiling. "My sister helped me. And Neji—though he mainly watched from the ground."

Tenten grins, glancing back up at the mistletoe-covered ceiling. It gave the room a slight green tinge. "It's beautiful, Hinata."

Hinata thanks her, a blush rising to her cheeks. "I think Neji went to the office to get something," she hints, watching Tenten carefully.

Tenten clears her throat and smiles politely. "Great. I'll—uh, I'll go let him know I'm here."

Hinata smiles encouragingly and Tenten turns on her heel. She makes slow progress through the room, skirting around patrons and art enthusiasts, careful to sidestep arms loftily holding wine glasses.

She catches a glimpse of some of the art on the walls as she passes—Neji had placed various winter-themed paintings that were for sale. Tenten recognizes a few names as local artists and is surprised to see he'd even included a few students' works from the art college.

As she nears the back where the bar is setup, Tenten's forehead creases. There are trees. She draws close to one and stares. _Is that fucking plastic?_ she wonders. She stretches out a hand to touch a bough when a familiar voice reprimands teasingly, "Don't touch the exhibits."

Tenten smiles and lets her arm drop, glancing up at Neji. She gestures to the tree, eyes wide with curiosity. "Is this plastic?"

Neji nods. "It's recycled," he says, looking at the trees. There are so many that it seems like a forest has sprung up in the back room, sprigs of green crowded close together.

"This is . . . amazing, Neji."

Neji's eyes find hers again, his features softening. He inclines his head back toward the office, now obscured by trees. "I have to get more wine for the bartender."

"I'll help," Tenten offers.

They begin to move slowly past the trees.

"God, you really packed these in here, didn't you?" Tenten mutters to Neji's back. She hears him release the barest of chuckles.

She follows him to the break room where the refrigerator is and waits, leaning against the wall as he withdraws bottle after bottle of wine. "You know," Tenten begins, eyeing him, "I'm surprised you aren't more concerned about the lawsuit hanging over everyone's head in the gallery room."

Neji pauses and looks at her over his shoulder, his eyebrows drawn in confusion. "What? I watched them hang it up."

"Not that kind of lawsuit, Neji."

Neji shakes his head, clearly not following. Tenten sighs loudly, brushing back her bangs in rehearsed exasperation. "You know what mistletoe is for, right, Neji?"

Color spreads up his neck to his cheeks. Tenten can barely stop herself from smirking. He closes the refrigerator and crosses his arms, leaning back against it.

"No one would be stupid enough to try something like that," Neji maintains.

Tenten snorts. "Neji, you're such a guy."

He swallows, silent. After a moment, he says, "Something tells me you're teasing me."

Tenten smiles slyly. She shrugs, reaching for the wine behind him on the counter. "Maybe. But if you got Hinata to hang all that up just for the chance to kiss me again, you didn't have to go to that much trouble." And she pecks his cheek quickly, blushing.

They hadn't spoken about their previous kiss at all. For all intents and purposes, that kiss was an outlier—a random fluke that both were too apprehensive to discuss or revisit.

And yet.

Tenten pulls away and pauses, her back to the wall now, waiting for Neji to grab the other wine bottles so they can head back. But instead, he stares at her seriously, forehead creased.

"What?" she whispers, heart pounding in her chest.

Neji shakes his head and touches her collarbone, brushing it lightly with his fingertips. Tenten waits, afraid and excited and tense.

When he places his lips on hers, it is both exactly like last time and completely different. Last time, there had been a lingering uncertainty. They'd been fueled by the stress, the yearning from the past year's dreams and visions, the attraction that clearly existed between them. It had been something they'd wanted and not—something they were too afraid to name aloud.

But now—_God, now?_ Neji is melting. His heart is thudding in his chest, but it is a deep beat—a rhythm that reminds him of Tenten smashing her thumb on the game controller in _Street Fighter_, or her slow, almost lazy, sketches with her ink pen, or the way she runs her hands through her hair, or the way he's watched her pour coffee over the past few weeks, or—

Tenten wraps her arms tightly around Neji's neck, pressing him closer. Instead of feeling like she's been set on fire, Tenten feels a steady warmth spreading from the pit of her stomach, to her thighs and toes, up through her chest, circling round her heart and lungs, and resting across the back of her neck. It is a warmth that is resolute in its purpose, unyielding, calm, unbreakable. It feels like the smile on her face every time Neji makes an unexpected joke, or like watching him curse at a huge papercutting of a snowflake, or like the thick brushstrokes of his oil painting on his office wall, or like the slight touch of his hand on her hip as they cross the street, or like the way his eyes linger when she's laughing or talking or drawing or thinking.

They part and Neji leans his head against Tenten's for a moment, breathing carefully. Slowly, Tenten lets her arms slide down from his neck to brace his chest. "We're keeping these art types from guzzling down more wine," Tenten whispers to him after a moment of long silence.

Neji nods and straightens, running a hand through his hair. He turns, grabs the other two bottles, and follows Tenten out of the break room and back through the trees.

* * *

A little after eleven, Neji finally ushers out the last of the exhibit attendees. His cousins linger near the doorway, yawning.

"Neji, do you want us to clean up?" Hanabi asks, tiredly leaning her head on Hinata's shoulder.

Neji shakes his head. "We can do it tomorrow. Go home."

Sleepily, Hinata and Hanabi say their goodbyes, waving across the room to Tenten, who is picking up discarded napkins and plastic cups that had been left on the floor.

After Hinata and Hanabi slip out the door, Neji leans his head against the wall, watching Tenten. Absentmindedly, she keeps crouching every few steps to pick up a fallen mistletoe berry or a tissue or a gum wrapper.

"You're not going to help?" Tenten poses, not looking at him as she stuffs another nibbled-on cookie inside a half-full wine glass.

The words are out of his mouth before Neji can even ponder them. "Do you want to come over tonight?"

Tenten stills, her gaze meeting his. She'd been to his apartment numerous times, of course, since they'd met in October; playing video games or just stopping briefly by on their way somewhere for Neji to get something or other. _But never at night. Never at bootycall hours_, Tenten hisses to herself. She feels her face flush and looks down again at the collected trash in her hands.

Nonchalantly, she answers, "Sure."

* * *

Their walk to Neji's apartment is quiet. Tenten fidgets for a moment before reprimanding herself to _relax for fuck's sake!_ For his part, Neji is even more silent than usual—his shoulders tense, his steps quick.

As they reach his front door and Neji pulls out his keys, Tenten finally sucks up the courage to mention, "I have something to show you, actually."

_Stop_, Neji immediately cautions, turning his thoughts away from the naked road they were headed towards. "Oh?"

Tenten nods, stepping inside first when Neji opens the door. She walks carefully to his kitchen counter, taking a seat on one of the stools. She unzips her backpack and withdraws her computer, powering it on.

"Do you want something to drink?" Neji asks, looking inside his refrigerator.

"I guess you didn't bring any of that fancy wine from the gallery with you?" Tenten asks lightly.

Neji shakes his head and withdraws two cans of beer. "No, but I have this."

Tenten smiles as she takes one and pops the tab. "Thanks. This suits me better anyway."

Neji smiles back and moves to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder. With a few taps, Tenten zooms to the section of the game where her character is stranded on the island. However, instead of watching the main character drown, as Neji has become accustomed to seeing, instead, he watches as the character dives into the ocean as the sand collapses.

Tenten fiddles with her beer can, watching the screen as the character dives deeper and deeper towards the ocean floor. The screen becomes darker until finally, there is a small, pixelated prick of light. Neji shifts his footing, angling closer to the computer. Tenten can feel the heat of his body at her back; she consciously resists from leaning back into his chest.

The screen brightens as the character's hand reaches out. And then—someone takes it.

She takes a sip of her beer as the screen goes black once again, her computer switching to her code writing program.

"You fixed it," Neji murmurs, turning to gaze down at her, moving to press his hip against the counter.

"Sort of," Tenten replies, running a hand through her bangs. "I'm not finished with it yet . . . but it's not due until next semester, so. . ." Tenten takes a breath, glancing up at him. "I—I was inspired by that dream. You know?"

Neji nods, his eyes searching. Tenten swallows down more beer and gets to her feet, walking towards the living room. She clears her throat. "So," she says, "Hanabi is kind of intense."

Neji snorts and faces her, a finger tapping his beer can. "She can be." He waits a second, then asks, "I'm guessing she asked how we knew each other?"

Tenten hums, perching on the edge of Neji's couch. "She cornered me tonight while I was looking at the paintings. . . I kind of lied. Do you think she'll figure it out?"

"No. Lee. . . Lee is the only one I told about the dreams. I mentioned it to Hinata once, but . . . I didn't explain anything."

Tenten tilts her head, considering him. "I'm still surprised you mentioned it to anyone. You—you usually hold your cards close to the chest."

Neji gazes back, eventually shrugging. "I was disturbed. And I didn't know what else to do." He lifts an eyebrow in question. "Why didn't you tell anyone? It didn't worry you at all?"

"Of course, it did. I thought I was being haunted by a ghost." She pauses, then adds limply, "I told that fortune teller."

"That's different. Why didn't you tell Mirai?"

Tenten slowly shakes her head. "Mirai would. . . I don't know. Tell me I was imagining things. And I knew you were real somehow, ghost or not. Besides," she shrugs, glancing at the beer can in her hand, "I always assumed it would end, one way or another. I would either find out who you really were, or you would stop appearing. I just didn't know how or when."

Neji's expression shifts—something akin to surprise. "What?" Tenten prompts.

"You . . . have more faith than I do." At Tenten's bemused look, Neji continues, "I looked for you so many times, in so many ways. Some of them were ridiculous, but I had no other way. Around the end of the summer I decided to give up, to ignore all of the dreams that I could. I thought something was wrong with my brain; I thought about having an MRI or seeing a psychiatrist. I kept telling myself you weren't real. And then you were."

"That wasn't an abnormal reaction, Neji. You were just trying to figure everything out, like always."

Neji takes another pull from his beer. "Yes. But you had faith before you even knew me or knew that I was real." His mouth pulls toward a smirk. "I suppose that stupid fortune teller was right after all, though I hate to admit it."

Tenten smirks. "You owe me fifty bucks from that visit, by the way."

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. Tenten stands to her feet and asks, "Can I use your restroom?"

Neji nods and points to a door that has always been closed each time she'd come over. "Through there. To the left."

Tenten nods in thanks and slips inside Neji's bedroom, leaving the door ajar. She casts a quick eye around as she heads to the bathroom. His room is tidy and minimalist, with a few sporadic paintings hung along the walls. Tenten wonders if they're his own.

She ducks into the bathroom and pees, analyzing her face in the mirror as she washes her hands. _God, this is ironic_, she thinks.

When she reenters Neji's room, she can't help but linger, approaching to study the paintings on the wall. Above a drafting desk hangs a landscape of a sunny patch in an otherwise moody-looking meadow. Tenten's gaze lazily drifts over the brush strokes, the small details Neji had added in the dappled light.

Turning from the painting, she lets her eyes wander over his desk, drinking the last of her beer. Her eye catches on the edge of a napkin, obscured underneath a sheaf of artist submissions for the gallery. Tenten moves them aside and pulls out a small square detailing a sketch in black ink.

She stares at it for a long moment in silence, not moving from her spot when Neji enters the room a moment later.

"What is it?" he asks.

Wordlessly, Tenten looks at him over her shoulder and holds up the napkin. "When did you draw this?" she asks softly.

Neji gazes at it for the merest of seconds before focusing on Tenten. He says nothing for a long few seconds. "This past spring. In April . . . or May. I can't remember which."

Tenten's lips purse and Neji steps closer. She looks back at the portrait, fighting bemusement. "Isn't this strange, Neji?" she sighs.

"Yes, it is."

"You did this . . . from memory?" she deduces.

Neji nods. "I—I was with Lee. I was telling him about . . . everything, and . . . drawing you felt like the best explanation."

Tenten's gaze lifts to him, a small smile touching the corner of her mouth. She gestures to the slopes of her cheeks on the soft paper. "You exaggerated my dimples."

"No, I didn't," Neji retorts, reaching up to graze the dent with his fingertips.

Tenten inclines her cheek into his touch, her throat bobbing as she swallows. "Yes, you did," she maintains. "You made me look like a chipmunk."

Neji shakes his head and dips his head, gently pressing his lips at the corner of her mouth. "I'm a realistic artist. You don't look like a chipmunk," he murmurs into her cheek, his breath stirring over her face.

Her head spinning, Tenten lightly pushes on Neji's chest and steps away, settling on his mattress with crossed legs. She is still holding the napkin. "I demand a redesign."

Neji smirks, folding his arms against his chest. "Right now?"

Tenten nods, clutching the napkin tightly. Neji releases a breathy laugh. He studies her for a moment, then says, "What will you pay me? For a recommissioning?"

"Haven't you already gotten what you're owed? A beautiful woman is in your apartment," Tenten replies, sounding bolder than she feels.

"Tenten," Neji says, sitting next to her on the edge of the mattress. "I stand by what I drew months ago."

Tenten puffs out her cheeks in exasperation, looking down at it again. When she looks up again, Neji is smug. "Now you really do look like a chipmunk," he tells her.

Tenten swats him on the shoulder, and Neji grasps her wrist, his smile growing. His expression shifts, and then he whispers seriously, "I know you like the back of my hand. I don't have to have you in front of me to make an accurate portrait. I can see you with my eyes closed."

And he can. She feels it through his fingertips and in his direct gaze, in the way he is slowly, surely drawing her closer. Tenten grasps his chin and gives him a quick kiss, only a shadow of the ones they'd shared earlier in the gallery. She leans back onto his pillows and smiles shyly. Neji's fingers twitch, and Tenten takes this as an invitation. Her fingertips dance into his palm, and she decidedly ignores the way her skin is prickling.

She studies him for a long moment, her pulse quickening at the way he's looking at her—ardent and curious and undone. She licks her lips, feeling a thrill as his gaze drops, briefly, to her mouth. "What do you want to say?" she prompts in the most level tone she can manage.

He stares at her with an intensity that threatens to take her breath away. Lightly, he squeezes her fingers, and then softly says, "I like you. Even if you have cheeks that resemble a chipmunk's." His mouth quirks at the end of his sentence, as if he'd been thinking it for a while and it gave him pleasure to finally say it aloud.

Her body feels so heavy, though her head feels like it's made of air. "I like you too," she whispers back. "Even if you think I have chipmunk cheeks."

Neji nods and his face relaxes. He grasps the back of her neck and brushes his lips against her cheeks again. Tenten winds her arms around him, relishing the feel of her body fitting into his.

"Just so we're agreed, this isn't part of the recommissioning fee," she murmurs.

Neji rolls his eyes, and shifts her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress.

* * *

In the morning, Tenten wakes first. She hums for a moment, savoring the feel of Neji's body next to hers, skin on skin. Slowly, she shifts onto her side and twists down to look at him.

His hair has fanned out on the pillow through the night. Lightly, Tenten rests her hand on his throat, rubbing her thumb along the ridge of his Adam's apple. Neji twitches, and Tenten watches as his mouth quirks towards a smile. Tenten rolls her eyes. _How long has he been pretending to be asleep?_

Silently, feeling mischievous, Tenten reaches out to tweak his ear, but he catches her wrist. Amused, she asks him, "How did you know?"

"Instinct," Neji replies, his eyelids slowly opening to view her.

She leans down and kisses him. "You're so creepy," she mutters.

"Says the woman who thinks having a ghost in her mirror is normal."

Tenten shakes her head, and curls herself around him, saying, "You're lucky I like you, otherwise I wouldn't let that comment go without a serious ass-kicking."

Neji sighs, one hand circling her waist, while the other reaches for his phone on the nightstand. "You're right. I'm shaking at the thought," he mutters sarcastically. He glances at his phone for a moment then exhales, disappointed. "I have to go the gallery."

Tenten groans. "Can't it wait?"

Neji brushes a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Hinata and Hanabi are on their way, and they don't have a key. If I don't leave now, they'll beat me there."

"Why not leave it up until New Years?" Tenten asks, running a hand down his arm.

"Because I'm showcasing other things for New Years, and we have our patrons' New Year's party, which means I'll have to rearrange some things."

Tenten hums, absently trailing her fingers along his brow. She smiles when Neji's lips press into her palm. "Come on," he says, slipping out of her grip to get out of bed.

She heeds him, albeit lazily, rummaging through her haphazard pile of clothes on the floor. Her hand freezes as she tugs on a sock, looking up at Neji. "Shit."

Neji looks at her from where he's standing in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. "What?" he asks around his toothbrush.

"Hinata and Hanabi. They'll know."

Neji pauses for a second, then spits out his toothpaste into the sink. "So?"

"So, that will be weird."

"Not any weirder than anything else from this past year. It will only be awkward."

"As if that isn't worse," Tenten scoffs, tugging on her dress from the previous night. "As if it won't be obvious the second they see us."

"You mean because of your clothes?"

_And the sex glow that's surrounding us_, Tenten silently says.

Neji catches her eye, smirking, as if he'd heard her. Wordlessly, he approaches a chest of drawers and throws her a sweater. "No one will know a thing," he murmurs, returning to the bathroom and closing the door.

"Yeah, right," Tenten mutters. "As if you Hyuga don't see everything."

* * *

Tenten, it turns out, is right. If it weren't obvious from the snickers Hanabi barely struggles to stifle, then Hinata being unable to meet Neji or Tenten's eyes all morning was certainly enough to cement it.

It takes most of the morning to remove the mistletoe, with Tenten up on the scaffolding helping Hinata and Hanabi, while Neji caught branches from below. A few times, Neji and Tenten make eye contact, a secret yearning passing between them. Neji tries all morning to dispel the blush resting on his cheeks.

Finally, a little after noon, they call it a day. Hanabi and Hinata invite them to lunch, but Neji quickly declines, saying they have other plans.

"I bet you do," Hanabi says with a raised eyebrow.

Hinata pulls her away, shushing, as she waves a hand in goodbye. Her face is bright red.

"Ugh." Tenten hides her face in her hands, leaning against the gallery doorway.

Neji studies her, a slight smile on his face. After a moment, he softly tells her, "If you thought that was embarrassing, I shudder to think how you'll react when Lee finds out."

"Lee I can handle," Tenten retorts.

"You saying that proves just how much you don't know him at all," Neji laughs. "I wouldn't be surprised if he announces it to everyone within earshot."

Tenten winces, her gaze narrowing. "You sound unfazed by that possibility."

Neji sighs, crossing his arms. "Didn't you say it would be better for me to let things go?"

"Ah, so you're taking my advice now, Neji Hyuga? Finally believe in soulmates, do you?" Tenten asks, smirking.

Neji shrugs, noncommittal, and says, "All I'm saying is that . . . if you're my destiny, then I'll accept that. Just this once."

Tenten smiles in answer.

* * *

Later, as they are walking to _Kismet_ for a late breakfast, their hands find each other. Tenten had been brainstorming aloud her ideas for her video game, Neji listening patiently as she drifted in and out of conversation.

She pauses as their fingers lace together, warmth spreading through her. Neji smiles down at the sidewalk and squeezes her hand lightly. Tenten presses closer into his side, her brown eyes lifting to gaze at the bright winter sky.

"Is it weird to say that I feel like I've been doing this with you my whole life?" she murmurs.

Something in Neji's chest surges, his eyes still focused on the path in front of them. "No," he whispers back.

As they reach the door of _Kismet_, Tenten can finally detect Neji's heartbeat through his fingertips. It beats in time with hers. She catches Neji's eye, and he looks back, a knowing smile on his mouth. Tenten grins and pulls him inside.

* * *

_**kismet—when you encounter something by chance that seems like it was meant to be; fate; destiny**_

* * *

**A/N:** _*hides face in hands* This turned out so much more soft than I intended. I wanted so much more angst! But oh well. Hope you can excuse me for any inaccuracies. Sorry it was so long too._

_Definition at the bottom pulled from vocabulary dot com._

_Hope you all enjoyed! :) -KNO_


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